


Lento

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Slash or Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:40:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: Reflections about a loss.





	Lento

**Author's Note:**

> So this kinda took a different direction than I thought it would, but I still hope you enjoy! (Unbeta'd and cut down a lot so I hope the gist gets through)
> 
> Also, look at this,[ (x)](https://78.media.tumblr.com/1da31514d2ccb285b0925216f1f86b9a/tumblr_o9g1wmevl81rjev45o1_500.jpg), from the Euros, and this, [(x)](https://78.media.tumblr.com/aa602a4c3fc88e16a20fc3c1090a67f5/tumblr_pb76lmhEKa1thugpzo1_500.png), from the World Cup.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Julieta Venegas' song, [Lento.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuTx1QwLPjM) (I'm making it a thing.)

 

 

**_Germany, 2006._ **

 

 

_Sergio pulls back a chair to Andrés’ left. “Can I sit here?” He asks, sitting down before Andrés has a chance to reply._

_“Sure,” Andrés responds, meeting Sergio’s enthusiastic grin with a small, puzzled smile. “What brings you here?”_

_Sergio knows he’s breaking a key, unspoken rule. The first dinner with the national team is reserved for catching up with old friends that played on different teams while the team captain welcomed the new call-ups to the team. Freely talking to friends of friends or cementing new relationships was saved for after the team’s first practice._

_Sergio shrugs, hoping to downplay his initial - and likely obvious - interest.  “I want to talk to you.”_

_“Alright,” Andrés chuckles, angling his body towards Sergio. “Let’s talk, then.”_

 

 

 

**Russia, 2018.**

Sergio raps his knuckles twice against the door. “Can I come in?” He asks once it opens.

Andrés barely glances over at Sergio before he turns his back and makes his way back into the room. He walks a few steps inside before stopping, turning around to properly meet Sergio’s gaze. He looks upset, brows furrowed, the corner of his mouth downturned in an angry frown. “Yes,” Andrés replies after a moment, harsh. Sergio’s never waited to be invited into his room before.

The bed farthest from the entrance is full of Andrés’ clothes, neatly laid out, ready to be packed up into his suitcase. Sergio sits on the edge of the empty bed, watching Andrés fold his clothes. The air in the room is suffocating, the tense atmosphere pushing Sergio’s heart into his throat. Sergio’s used to the uncomfortable weight of a loss in a stadium, the dismayed murmurs of thousands of fans drowning out the sound of his own pounding heartbeat. Sergio’s pleaded for forgiveness from the Sánchez Pizjuán, raised his hands in a silent _mea culpa,_ more times than he’d like.

Yet, it’s the knife-like stab of Andrés’ concentrated disappointment that drags an apology from Sergio’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” Sergio blurts, breaking the silence.

Andres meets his gaze with a sharp glare. “Did you apologize to Piqué, too?” Andrés counters, trying to shift Sergio’s attention away from him, easily deflecting the apology.  Andrés breaks eye contact with a small shake of his head, picking up a shirt from his bed. “Why are you here, Sergio?” The question almost comes out like a sigh, quiet and resigned.

Sergio lays back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm, turning his face into the crook of his elbow. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. It’s not all about winning, except, he’s acutely aware of the numbers that adorn the back of his knuckles, victories he’ll never forget. He knows Andrés is thinking about them: the trophies he’s helped win, the five-digit timestamp of when he secured Spain’s first star.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“I want to be with you,” Sergio says, at last, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes.

There’s a light, ruffling sound of fabric before the bed dips down beside Sergio’s head. Andrés’ hand is warm when he moves to uncover Sergio’s eyes.  

Sergio blinks up blearily, staring into Andres’ perfectly composed hazel gaze. “Alright, let’s talk, then.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Me @ Me: Stop writing weirdly repetitive & cyclical stuff.  
> Me: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) *writes this*
> 
> I requested something with these two for the anon kink meme like 2 years ago, but I decided to fill out my own prompt (sorta)!


End file.
